When my kids were babies, crying was the only way they had to communicate. I learned to tell their different cries - the tired cry, the hungry cry, the I'm having a complete and utter meltdown cry. When they learned to talk, interpreting their needs became a lot easier. There was still crying but not as often.
As parents, how well we deal with crying kids can be relative to how much sleep/food/caffeine we have had and also who is within earshot. We have all been that mother with a clenched jaw and a fixed smile telling our kid "come on now, you're alright" when really we want to screech at them to "stop that crying or there'll be no screens till you're 25".
It's Friday today. The last day of the kids' two weeks holidays and I think it's fair to say that I have reached saturation point when it comes to "quality time" with my darling children. You know you are close to the edge when you hear one of them crying downstairs and rather than wondering if they are ok, you think to yourself "Really? You had to wait till I was in the loo to start crying? Can I seriously not even have a wee in peace? FFS".
Roll on Monday morning school drop off.....
When I was growing up there were 4 houses beside each other with kids of similar ages. There were 11 of us in total, 4 girls and 7 boys. This was before play dates were invented. There was no working around after school activity schedules in those days. Everyone just went out the front and played with whoever was around. If we needed more people to make up teams we knocked on the door and asked if they were coming out to play.
Supervision consisted of an open window and a parent who was vaguely within earshot. We played on the road or in the various gardens. The road wasn't a busy one, it ended in a cul-de-sac so shouting "car" was usually enough to ensure no-one was mowed down. The worst injury I sustained as a child was when I fell off the wall I was walking along in the back garden into a thorny bush while wearing very short shorts. My thighs have rarely seen daylight since.
We played games like Kerbs (where you have to bounce a football off the opposite kerb from various distances), Sticks (where you jumped between 3 sticks which were moved further and further apart) and Tip the Can (a cross between Chasing, Hide & Seek and Survivor). The games ended when dinner was ready or it got dark outside. The rules were fluid and oft-debated.
I was reminded of those childhood games recently when my own kids were out playing football on the reserve (sort of a mini-park) beside our house. They were joined by a couple of kids from up the road, then a few more from down the road came along and before they knew it, there were 9 kids milling about playing happily together. It started out as football, then merged into touch rugby before it descended into a complete free for all. The game ended when I called them in for dinner. In they came, sweaty and ravenous and full of chat about the games they had played and the goals they had scored, the winners and the losers, the kids with the mad skills and the ones who weren't very good but tried their hardest. History is repeating itself in the best possible way.
I realised recently that I am turning into the Dad from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Not in a balding, middle aged spread way thankfully. Remember how he used to recommend using Windex to solve any ailment? Well it turns out that Aveeno is my Windex. Itchy bite? Put some Aveeno on it. Sore leg? Put some Aveeno on it. Scratch on your arm? Put some Aveeno on it.
Not sure whether it is the curing power of Aveeno or the power of distraction, but either way as long as it keeps working on the kids, I'm going to stick with the Aveeno.
- How to reassemble a transformer back into a car, while in a car on a bendy road, in the dark.
- What "that thing over there" is.
- That a pain in your tummy or unexplained general grumpiness can be solved by going to the toilet.
- The plot to way too many random kids movies.
- The answer to every question your child can think of (or so they seem to think).
- Allowing your children to pick out their own clothes unsupervised can lead to some "interesting" fashion choices (did you get dressed in the dark?) but hey, they have clothes on and sometimes winning that battle is enough for one day.
- Shoveling Weetabix into a child who has come home from a birthday party three parts exhausted, one part wired, with no interest in dinner/listening/not turning into a well fed gremlin, may just be the sugar antidote that pulls them back from the "I'm so tired I can't even cope with being upright" edge they are so perilously close to tipping over.
- Distraction and bribery may not be mentioned much in parenting books but like the best kept dirty little secrets, everyone's had a go in times of desperation.
- Everyone gets a turn to be the mum with the great hair and the stylish outfit and the really well behaved, polite children but today is not your day and tomorrow's not looking likely either.
For the definitive list of things Mothers know, check out Isn't it well for ye? the book of Irish Mammies. You'll crack up laughing till the day you hear yourself saying one of these gems and you realise you have turned into your Mam and your Granny and probably her Granny before her. Don't worry though, sure isn't there great drying out?
